


Broken

by susies_fandom_wonders



Series: Requested Fics [1]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 04:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12833451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susies_fandom_wonders/pseuds/susies_fandom_wonders
Summary: Desmond Sycamore is present when his wife and daughter were executed by Targent.





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> From my Tumblr blog, slenderbrine22.tumblr.com . Requested by @one-groovy-rose , she wanted a feely fic where Des sees his wife and daughter killed in front of him.

Desmond woke with a start. His body groaned with the remnants of a struggle, his torso littered with dark purple bruises and scratches. His right arm hung limply at his side, and attempting to move it only shot a electric spike of pain up and down his body. His left leg was in a similar state, except he could really feel it anymore, only being able to stare at it pointing the wrong direction enough to make even the most hardened spine shiver.

His glasses were shattered, some of the shards piercing his left eye and dying one side of his vision completely red. He could hear soft whimperings, his stomach dropping when he realized that those were coming from his daughter.

“Is Daddy okay? Is he okay?” Her voice was shaky and high-pitched, and Des could hear the tears in her voice.

“He’s going to be okay, honey.” His wife’s voice. It was a bit stronger than his daughter’s, but it still carried a slight tremor. “I’ve called the police. They should be here in a moment.”  
Then it hit him. Targent. Targent had been here. Targent was still here. Targent wouldn’t just leave. He struggled to look up at his family. When his eyes finally made eye contact with them, he could see that they were still in their nightclothes, his wife looking over with a start as he struggled to form words, his breathing labored and shaky.

“Des?”

“You need to leave now!” The ferocity in his tone made his wife turn a bit pale. Their daughter was looking at him with wide, watery eyes. Des coughed, wincing at the sudden move. “You need to get out of here. They’re still here.”

His wife looked like she was going to cry. “Des --”

“Go!” He struggled to move. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Oh, you think so?” Des felt the heavy pressure of something on him, on his bruised torso, on his (probably) fractured ribs. He gave a sharp yelp, tears springing to his eyes.  
He could not cry. He couldn’t.

He could hear his daughter beginning to give loud wails, how his wife was trying to shush her. There were several people in the room with them now. Des could hear their footsteps, the clicks of the guns that were more than likely trained on his family.

“Leave them alone!” He shouted. “They have done nothing wrong!” The weight on him increased, and he shouted. That was a foot. Someone was stepping on him, pinning him to the floor. His body groaned from the stress.

“Now, now, my boy, we wouldn’t want you to get too hurt, now would we?” Des’s heart dropped as he recognized that voice.

Bronev was in the room with them. He grit his teeth. He wasn’t planning on --? Desmond immediately shut out the thought. No way was his father going to kill his own flesh, his own blood.

He gave another shout as his head was yanked up by his hair. Bronev looked at him, grinning.

“We are simply here to teach you a lesson.” He looked past his father’s face to the terrified faces of his family. His wife was hunched down, hugging their daughter and whispering softly to her. Tears were streaming down her face, and by the way his daughter’s shoulders were shaking, she probably crying as well.

“-- alright, boys,” Bronev called out to the room. “Time to teach my son a lesson.” The whole room seemed to freeze, and Desmond could see the goons give Bronev incredulous looks.

“...Boss,” one of them started, “you mean to tell us that we need to kill your --”

“Get on with it!” Bronev shouted, and Des could see the brick-red eyes, so much like his, leering back at him from behind those glasses. The broken man was ready to bawl.

“Please, don’t hurt them. They’re all I have. Don’t hurt them, I beg of you.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper, his voice cracking and his body shaking from the excruciating pain and fear that gripped him. Bronev grinned, and Desmond shuddered.

“You should have joined me when I offered, then.” He stood, and snatched a gun from one of his goons before training it on the two girls in front of him. Desmond dropped his head, clenching his eyes shut.

“Keep his head up, and his eyes -- eye -- open. He needs to see what happens when he refuses.” There were hands on his hair, on his face, and he writhed, not caring if he jostled a broken limb. He couldn’t see this. He couldn’t.

He gave a sharp cry as his hair was tugged, yanking his head up. A hand forced his good eye open, and he couldn’t look away, not anymore, at his family’s terrified faces.

“Don’t hurt them!” He sobbed, his fear reaching a peak as he saw his father’s finger curl over the trigger. “Please….!” His plea was ignored as the sound of a gunshot was heard, and shortly after, a heavy thud.

His wife had been shot first, the bullet entering her chest. The bullet had gone completely through her, he could see the blood on the other side of her body as she collapsed to the floor. Their daughter gave a bloodcurdling scream. Desmond struggled, and he managed to get himself somewhat loose before he was pinned again.

“Leave her alone! Don’t hurt her!” He directed his shouts towards his daughter. “Run! Run, Vi --” Another shot, and his daughter’s screams fell silent as she fell to the ground as well, next to her mother. Her small body was surrounded by a puddle of blood instantly. He pulled his head away from the goons, and they didn’t fight him. His head dropped to the floor, and he gave a broken sob.

“You bastard,” he whispered. “That was your family you killed, you ba --” He gave a loud cry as he was kicked in his broken leg. His reserves dropped at that action, and he started sobbing into the floor. He could feel the men getting off him, and his head was lifted one more time.

Bronev was staring back at him with a smug grin, his face splattered with small droplets of blood. His family’s blood. Des could hear the telltale sounds of sirens. Bronev’s expression fell into a disappointed one.

“Such a shame. They’re almost here….” Bronev let go of his head with a push, and before Desmond could process what was happening, he was kicked in the head. There wasn’t any pain that time, just darkness consuming his already limited vision. The last thought he had before he lost consciousness was how things could have -- would have -- been different if he had joined them.

“Think about this when you try to refuse me next time.” Bronev’s voice was muffled, filled with static. Desmond couldn’t process the sentence enough to care.  
Because regardless of what happened now, the man known as Desmond Sycamore had shattered into a million broken pieces.


End file.
